


Someone, Somewhere

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Nothing Will Remain 'Verse [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Comfort Porn, Emotional Trauma, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: A timestamp for theNothing Will Remain 'verse, set at the point when Neal has gotten out of prison after serving time for crimes he didn't comment.  He's alone and has nothing except his determination – and an access card for the New York Public Library.





	

_“She saved my life, you know. She gave me a home and a purpose. She held on tight when all I wanted to do was let go.”_

_“She said you found her right after you’d gotten out of prison.”_

_“Yeah. I was desperate. I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn’t have a place to stay and no money. It wasn’t bad the first few nights, sleeping outside. Being able to see the stars, the moon. Hearing the birds sing. You miss that in prison.”_

_“But you couldn’t live on the streets forever.”_

_“No. I went to the library and used a computer to track Ellie down. It’s funny. When I went into prison, they took my wallet. I hadn’t left any money in it – pretty much didn’t have any left anyway. I wasn’t so stupid to leave credit cards in there, either. It was just my driver’s license and of all things, my New York Public Library access card. It was still valid and I was still linked to a bunch of databases from my days with Adler.”_

_“So, you looked her up?”_

_“Yeah. I couldn’t believe that she was living in New York, and had been in New York for so long.”_

_“El moved here right after college.”_

_“That’s what she told me. So much time we lost. Do you know we actually lived about three blocks from each other at one point? I had a condo on Prince Street when she was living on Greene. And we never crossed paths.”_

A conversation between Peter and Neal, in [We Rise Where Shadows Fall](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/437061.html)

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Freedom was such a strange thing. To be able to go anywhere, do anything. To sleep as long as he wanted, to wake to the sound of birdsong, not the clanging of a nightstick against iron bars.

The ground was cold and damp and objectively a lot less comfortable than the thin mattress and ancient bedframe he'd had in his cell in Otisville, but it was early summer and the ground smelled sweet and green. Instead of a blank gray ceiling, Neal could stare into the endless sky. It was a pity that there was so much light pollution, but the moon was full and bright and drowned out the stars, anyway.

He could remember lying outside as a child, next to his cousin and best friend, Ellie. They'd lie in her parents' hammock and watch the clouds drift by, finding dragons and giants and all sorts of strange creatures that they'd make stories about. On special nights, they'd be allowed to stay up late and watch the stars come out. His heart cracked a little when he remembered one very wonderful summer night, a few weeks before the Marshals came and took him and his mother away.

They'd spent the day playing, and after dinner, Ellie's mom and dad let them stay outside and watch for falling stars. They'd made promises to each other - _pinky swear and hope to die_ \- that they'd remain friends forever.

Neal wondered if there was an exception carved out for going into WitSec, because that promise didn't survive the summer.

He'd never forgotten Ellie, and had longed to write to her. But one of the Marshals had taken him aside and told him just how dangerous it would be if he kept in touch with any of his friends. Not only to him and his mom, but to them and their families. The people who were looking for him were bad and wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone who could tell them where he and his mom were.

He'd left WitSec at eighteen. Long before, to be honest. He'd never used "Danny Brooks" as his real name. By the time he was in high school, he called himself Neal Caffrey, although he was careful to use his mother's WitSec identity when he had to.

But he'd never contacted Ellie. It had been okay to risk his own safety, but he wasn't going to do anything to put her in jeopardy.

Watching the moon sink behind the treetops, Neal became restless. He wasn't in prison anymore. There was no reason why he couldn't just go for a walk.

New York City was a much safer place these days. Neal could remember hearing terrible stories about people who were mugged or raped or killed just because they were alone in Central Park after dark, but he'd been sleeping near the Belvedere Castle for three nights and no one bothered him, not even the mounted patrol officers. Maybe they didn't see him.

Feeling daring, he scrambled up the hill and onto the road. Neal had no idea of the time, but judging from the utter lack of people around, it was probably well after midnight. The first night he'd spent here, he'd been shocked at how busy the park was so long after sunset – runners and dog walkers and cyclists were on the path, couples holding hands, children with their parents. No one seemed at all afraid.

But now, he was alone, solitary, except for the squirrels chasing each other through the underbrush. At least Neal hoped they were squirrels and not rats.

As he walked, Neal made plans. He had an almost empty wallet – almost. There were a few singles left from the fifty they gave him when he was released, and he had his New York Public Library Access card. He could use the computers to see just what the vultures left of the life he once had.

Before the FBI entered his life, before Vincent disappeared, he had the world. Millions of dollars in personal assets, endless lines of credit - the type of security only money could buy. But the government had threatened to take everything, and there was still one person in his life that needed his protection – his mother. For that – and other reason – he'd struck a deal for a relatively short prison sentence. They let him put a substantial amount of money into trust for his mother's care, he paid off his lawyers, but everything else was surrendered to the U.S. Government.

Everything, down to his last dime.

When he'd made that agreement, he'd been numb. On top of Vincent's apparent betrayal, he found out that his father had been a vicious drug-dealing murderer. The U.S. Attorney's hadn't given him a lot of time to think about things. If he didn't agree to the deal that afternoon, they were going to take the case to trial and he'd end up spending life in prison. Someone had to pay – and he was the guiltiest looking of them all.

For the duration of his sentence, he refused to think about everything he'd given up, everything he'd lost. He'd believed that Vincent was out there, waiting for him to get out, knowing that he'd said nothing – because there was nothing to say.

Four days ago, when he was about to be released, Neal had convinced himself that there'd be a black car waiting for him. That the past four years – the pain and terror, the bargains that he'd made with his body to stay safe and alive – were justified.

But when the gate opened, there'd been no black car waiting for him. Not even a taxi. Just summer sunshine, birdsong, and a ten-minute walk to the Greyhound stop for a bus to Manhattan. He had no one, no resources. But he wasn't stupid. He would survive.

Neal walked for hours, until the lamps dimmed as dawn light caressed the city. He had a plan for today. He'd shower at one of the city's homeless shelters, and go to the library. He needed to find some way to move forward.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A little before nine o'clock on a Saturday evening in June, Elizabeth sat on her couch and pondered an interesting conundrum. How could she be both lonely and satisfied with her life?

Her business was growing by leaps and bounds – so much so that she'd opened up a small storefront in Lower Manhattan. She'd even been able to turn down clients. Last year at this time, she'd have worked one event in the afternoon and another in the evening, and then probably one more on Sunday.

Now, she had a highly competent staff and she didn't have to take every job that came her way. The wedding she'd managed in the Hamptons this afternoon was big and splashy and worthy of a complete article in the New York Times Style Section. It also meant that she could give herself and her staff the rest of the weekend off, instead of rushing to oversee another party.

This was the problem when you became a workaholic. You never have time the make friends or to keep the friends you do have.

It was different when she was married. Despite the unconventional nature of their relationship, she and Peter had still been a couple. Their lives intertwined and filled the empty spaces left when the work was done. But they'd been divorced for five years now, and it was silly to miss Peter's presence in her day-to-day life.

They remained friends. Not as close as they once were – because their lives moved in different directions – but they were still friends. She even had dinner with him on Wednesday evening and they'd joked about the old days when they'd both go hunting for men.

She worried a little about Peter. He was really a man made to be married. He loved the domestic life, but he hated to put the effort into dating. She'd kept her eyes open and had set him up on a few blind dates, but nothing had worked out. She'd just have to keep trying.

Elizabeth was about to call Peter and ask if he'd like to come over tomorrow for brunch when her doorbell rang. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she did have friendly neighbors who occasionally dropped by. It wasn't so late that she needed to be suspicious or afraid.

But she wasn't stupid, either, and she made sure the baseball bat that Peter left behind was in the entryway, she had her cellphone in her pocket, and her dog was at least awake before she checked to see who it was.

It wasn't her neighbor, nor was it anyone she recognized. The man had dark hair and fair skin and his clothes looked like they'd seen better days. Elizabeth thought that maybe he was a Jehovah's Witness, but he wasn't carrying a bible or a copy of The Watchtower. He didn't look threatening - his hands were at his side, not in tucked in his pockets and he wasn't making any effort to hide his face. When she opened the door a little ways, his eyes opened wide and he gave her a brilliant, almost joyful smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Elizabeth Mitchell?"

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

The man licked his lips and suddenly seemed nervous. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm your cousin, Neal Caffrey."

El blinked, not sure she heard right.

The man - Neal's - face fell at her lack of response and he quickly turned to leave. "Sorry - I guess you don't remember."

She grabbed for him, snagging his jacket and pulling him back. "Let me see your face." She pulled him under the porch light and tried to reconcile the little boy of her memories with the tall, almost gaunt man standing before her. His hair was dark and his pale blue eyes could well be the same. But there was only one way to make sure.

She reached up and parted the lock of hair at his forehead, feeling for scar. And there was one - a very fine line that extended diagonally from the middle of his brow.

"Hey!"

"You got that scar when you were six and walked into the edge of my mother's dining room table."

"And I bled all over the place."

"Your mother wouldn't stop screaming but you thought it was hysterical."

"Until your parents had to take me to the emergency room, and I had to get stitches."

They talked so fast, their sentences overlapped each other.

"Neal!" She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as she could. "What the hell happened to you." She let go and looked up, surprised to see that Neal was crying. "What's the matter?"

Neal wiped at his face. "I wasn't expecting this. Sorry."

"What, that I'd remember you? We were best friends. But enough of standing outside - come in. You have to tell me everything"

Neal made a face - it looked like he was trying to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "Are you sure?"

"Sure of what?"

"That I should come in? Maybe I should come back tomorrow. It's Saturday night, you should be spending it with your family."

"Silly, you ARE my family." She pulled harder and Neal finally followed her inside. Satchmo, her not-so-ferocious protector, looked up, sighed and went back to sleep.

She tugged Neal over to the kitchen. "How about a cup of coffee or tea or something?"

"Coffee would be good."

"It's late - do you want decaf?"

"Nah - regular's fine if that's easier for you."

Both delighted and unnerved at Neal's presence, she offered up a distraction, "It doesn't make a difference - " She gestured to the Keurig on the counter. "Decaf, half-caff, full caff, light roast, dark roast, flavored, and I even have cocoa if you'd prefer." She grinned, "Remember when we'd come inside after school or playing during the winter and mom would make us hot cocoa and we'd burn our mouths trying to get the little marshmallows before they melted?"

Neal nodded.

"So, what would you prefer?"

"Coffee's fine"

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it would be a little weird drinking hot cocoa on the first weekend of summer."

El made coffee for both of them, set out cream and sugar and sat down across from Neal. It was hard to believe that this man was the little boy she'd never quite forgotten – her once-upon-a-time forever best friend. "Okay, now spill. What happened to you?"

Neal didn't answer right away. He wrapped his hands around the cup and stared at it.

"Neal?" He flinched when she touched his hand.

"Did your parents tell you anything? Back then?"

She shook her head. "My mom said that you and Aunt Vivian just needed to go away and you'd be all right. I remember my dad being angry. I overheard him saying that you'd be safer if you were left with them. I was afraid to ask questions. But I never stopped missing you."

"I – I really don’t know where to begin. I remember that it was summer, right after school was out and we’d been playing until it got dark. So it was probably after nine. My mother was frantic and there were these men in suits at the house. Mom told me that we had to leave immediately. I could pack one suitcase, but everything else was left behind. I didn’t want to go. I remember screaming and yelling and begging her to let me stay with you and Aunt Donna and Uncle Allen. But she said no and I couldn’t even leave a letter for you."

"It sounds like something out of a movie."

"We were put into Witness Protection – it had something to do with …" Neal paused and took a deep breath, "my dad."

"Why? What was your dad doing?"

"I don't know. They never told me. My mom never told me." Neal held onto the coffee cup as if it were a lifeline.

"Where did you go?"

"St. Louis. They got mom a job as a medical secretary."

"I can't imagine Aunt Vivian holding down a job." El slapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, that wasn't nice."

"It's okay, she wasn't very good at it. And to be honest, my mother just wasn't really good at holding down a job."

"What did you do?"

Neal shrugged. "We had money from my dad's pension and life insurance, and we lived simply. I worked hard, got scholarships for college."

Elizabeth had a million questions but Neal seemed to keep closing in on himself, keeping his answers basic. "What about now? When did you get to New York?"

It didn't seem possible, but Neal seemed to shrink deeper into himself. He hunched over the coffee cup and didn't look at her.

"Neal, please. What's going on?"

He finally looked at her, his eyes bleak. "I just got out of prison. I was a guest of the U.S. Government at their facility in Otisville, in upstate New York."

Shocked, she couldn't find any words.

"I got out about a week ago."

"Neal?" She wasn't frightened, just curious and concerned.

Neal got up. "Look, I pled guilty to charges of investment fraud. I really should leave now."

"Why?" She stopped him.

"I'm sure you don't want an ex-con around your family."

"I'm divorced, have no kids. And even if I did, I wouldn't kick you out. Like I said before, you're my family too. And no matter what, I'm not letting you out of my sight. You've been gone way too long."

El wrapped her arms around Neal again. "You're not going anywhere, mister. We have a lifetime of catching up to do."

"Ellie, please. You'd be better off if I left." Despite his words, Neal made no move to break out of her embrace.

"No one's called me that in twenty years." She pulled Neal over to the couch. "Come on, sit down. Relax."

Neal smiled, his expression a little less sad. "Anyone tell you that you're like a steam roller?"

"My clients, my ex, my employees. They say it's one of my best qualities." She sat next to him. "Now, tell me what you're doing, where you're living, what's going on with you now."

Neal bent over and started to pet Satchmo. He didn't answer.

"You know, I'm an event planner, not a dentist."

"Huh?"

"Getting answers from you is like pulling teeth."

"Ellie – "

"Neal, come on. Talk to me."

He stopped playing with the dog. "I've been sleeping in Central Park. It's nice out and I like watching the stars, hearing the birds. I'm free."

Elizabeth throttled her outrage. "How does a bedroom that overlooks a small garden sound? You can leave the windows open if you'd like."

"Ellie – "

"I can understand the attraction of being able to come and go as you'd like, and you'd have a key to the house and I'll never ask you to account for your time."

Neal shook his head. "You don't want a convict under your roof."

"Do you do drugs?"

"No."

"Are you going to attack me in the shower?"

"Of course not."

"Neal – you were my best friend. I've missed you and I'll be damned if I let you walk out that door and into the night."

"I can't pay you rent and I won't sponge off you."

"So, you'd rather live on the street or in a homeless shelter because you're too proud to accept help from your family until you can get back on your feet?"

"Ellie, I'm never going to be able to get back on my feet. I'm not employable. I'm a convict. No one will hire me. At best, I'll be able to get a job with a janitorial service, cleaning bathrooms for minimum wage."

She wasn't sure that was true, Peter used to complain bitterly about all the white collar criminals who did their time at Club Fed and then immediately started working on Wall Street again. Telling Neal that wouldn't do him any good. "Can you just accept my help?"

Neal didn't answer her.

"You looked for me for a reason."

"Not to be a leech. I had no idea you were in New York. It was a whim, really. I should have waited."

"For what? Until winter, when you were about to freeze to death?"

Neal's jaw tightened and she could see that he was getting ready to bolt. "Can you stay for a week? For a night?"

He said nothing and kept staring at his feet.

"Please?"

Neal nodded, the gesture terse and angry, but Elizabeth ignored the anger. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

She had the feeling he was lying, or that his last meal was many hours ago. "How do you feel about wedding cake?"

"Huh?"

"One of my clients made a last minute change in her wedding cake and I got a half-sheet pan's worth of chocolate-raspberry-hazelnut cream cake in the fridge. Feel like getting pimples and a sugar high with me?"

That got a smile. "I remember getting so sick on that box of Swiss Rolls you filched from your mom's pantry. We ate all of them."

"I can guarantee that this is a hell of a lot better than Swiss Rolls."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal spent twenty minutes under the hot shower, just letting the water run over him. It wasn't a just matter of cleanliness. It was having the luxury of time.

And safety.

Even in the minimum security of Otisville, the showers were a place of great vulnerability and he'd always kept his time under the water to a minimum. The bathing facility at the shelter was gross and without a change of clothes, he'd had to put on the same garments he'd been wearing since his release. They'd smelled sour and Neal couldn't help but notice that people at the library had avoided sitting next to him.

He had exactly two dollars left in his wallet – not enough for subway fare, so he blew it on a scented dryer sheet and twenty minutes of spin time in a midtown laundromat.

Ellie either had lost her sense of smell or she was too polite to say anything, because whatever good the dryer had done was probably erased by the two and a half hour walk to Brooklyn on a hot day.

The water started to turn cool and Neal reluctantly ended his shower. To his surprise, next to a pile of assorted toiletries, there was a men's terrycloth robe and a pair of slippers waiting for him. Elizabeth must have snuck and left these while he was bathing. Neal wasn't sure how he felt about that. And then he realized that it didn't matter. Ellie wasn't going to hurt him.

Wrapped in the robe, which smelled like heaven, he took care of the rest of his personal hygiene – shaving with a brand new razor, brushing his teeth with a new toothbrush – small luxuries he'd never appreciated before his incarceration.

He left the bathroom with some reluctance, figuring if he stayed, Ellie would come looking for him. There was a light coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway, and Neal figured that was where he'd find Ellie, and he was right.

She was fluffing a pillow and looked up when he paused at the doorway. "Hope you don't mind the beachy theme."

Neal looked around, and yes, the room was decorated with little touches of seaside memorabilia – shells and glass floats on the dresser, an indifferent beach cottage scene over the bed, the linens were blue and white, and best of all, clean. "It's fine. It's beautiful."

"I've brought up a bottle of water, in case you get thirsty from all the cake." Ellie grinned. They'd pretty much demolished a pastry that had been intended to serve at least a dozen people.

Neal grinned back, "Thanks."

"Do you want anything else? A book? Some music? I would send Satchmo in for company, but he wheezes and farts."

Neal wanted to tell her that Satch couldn't be any worse than the hundred or so men he'd bunked with. For his first two years at Otisville, he'd bunked in the large, open dormitories, which had a stunning lack of privacy. Wheezing and farting was the least of what went on at night. He'd worked a deal with one of the administrators in his third year and got himself a private cell. The "fee" wasn't all that bad. He definitely didn't need to tell Ellie about that. "No, I'm good."

"Don't be in a rush to get up in the morning. I've got nothing on the books and plan to sleep in, myself."

"Okay."

"Then I'll let you get to sleep." She paused by the door and put something on the bureau. "It's a key to the front door. I didn't set the alarm, so if you feel like you need to get out for a while, you know that you can come back."

Neal blinked, shaken to the core. "Thanks." He wrapped his arms around himself. "Thank you, for everything."

Ellie came back and hugged him. "You're my family and I never, ever forgot about you. Even when I didn't think about you every day, you were always there in the back of my mind. You're here now and it's like a missing piece of me has been found."

"Ellie – " He started crying and couldn't stop the tears.

"Shh, get some sleep."

She left and Neal took a deep breath.

Maybe, just maybe, his life could begin again.

__

FIN

  



End file.
